


Uncertainty

by enigmaticblue



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steven Caldwell isn't used to doubting himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncertainty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt, "possession/mind control." Spoilers for Critical Mass and The Long Goodbye.

What bothers him most is that he can’t quite pin down _when_ he’d been possessed by the Goa’uld, mostly because he doesn’t remember the exact moment it had happened. The doctors tell him that sort of amnesia—the blankness stretching both before and after possession—is normal. He doesn’t find that comforting.

 

It’s not like he hadn’t been aware of the possibility. Every single member of the SGC has been fully briefed on what happens when someone is taken as a host, and the possible after-effects. But the dry facts and laundry list of symptoms hadn’t covered what it _felt_ like.

 

Steven had watched his actions as a passenger inside his own head, unable to stop himself from sabotaging Atlantis, unable to tell anyone what he’d been doing until after Sheppard had tased him. Since then, Steven has gone over it in his head endlessly, trying to figure out when he’d first been overcome. He’d reviewed all his command decisions in the six months before they’d gotten the Goa’uld out.

 

The problem is that while he can narrow down the period when he must have been taken as a host, just based on the gaping hole in his memories, he can’t point to any decision he’d made that had come from the Goa’uld—other than trying to blow up Atlantis.

 

That’s what’s bothering him now, that he can’t determine what he would have done differently than the thing controlling him.

 

And that’s something no one had warned him about—the uncertainty about his own decisions, the questioning of every step he takes even after he’s been declared Goa’uld-free.

 

Who is he now? What kind of soldier is he? What kind of _man_ is he?

 

He brings that new perspective back to Atlantis and uses it when dealing with Sheppard and Weir as they’re possessed by alien entities.

 

If anyone understands what they’re going through, it’s him, and he knows the minute they reassert control over their own bodies.

 

He retains control over the city for just long enough to allow Beckett to clear Weir and Sheppard, and then he bows out, although his orders tell him to stick around long enough to ensure that they’re in their right minds.

 

Steven doesn’t have any doubts that they are, but he’s not one to ignore orders.

 

Besides, he likes Atlantis, and he’s rather fond of the view from one of the balconies off the North Pier.

 

“I heard you were here,” Weir says, setting down an earthenware jug next to him, holding a couple of mugs in her other hand.

 

“It’s a great view,” Steven replies. “I like coming here when I’m on Atlantis.”

 

“Drink?”

 

“Please,” he says.

 

Weir pours a couple of mugs and hands one to him. “I wanted to thank you again for what you did for Atlantis. You kept a lid on what was a very volatile situation.”

 

Steven shrugs. “I did what I could under the circumstances.”

 

“And I appreciate it,” Weir replies. “And thanks for being so understanding about—everything.”

 

Steven knows she’s referring to the kiss she’d shared with Sheppard, and the fact that he’d glossed over it in his report. “At least you know exactly which decisions you made as a result of alien influence,” he points out, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice entirely.

 

She winces. “I’m sorry.”

 

Steven shakes his head and takes a drink. “Don’t be. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

Weir offers a small, pained smile. “Our lives are very strange.”

 

Steven lifts his mug in a toast. “Here’s to people who have lived it.”

 

Weir taps his mug with hers and says, “I’ll drink to that.” She sips and then says hesitantly, “You know, you could look at it another way.”

 

He shoots her a glance. “How’s that?”

 

“Instead of focusing on past decisions, focus on the future.” Weir gives him a sympathetic look. “Easier said than done, I know, but it’s all you can do.”

 

Steven has heard that before during the mandatory counseling sessions the SGC had insisted upon, but it means more coming from her, given what she’s just been through.

 

After all, Weir is going to have to continue working with the people she’d tried to kill—or that the thing inside her had tried to kill, just as he does, and that’s something the shrinks can’t fully understand.

 

“You might have something there,” he admits, and takes some small comfort in the company of someone who knows intimately what it’s like to be relegated to the backseat in one’s own head.


End file.
